First when Maggy was my care,
Heaven, I thought, was in her air;
Now we're married, spier nae mair,
  Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Sweet and harmless as a child;
Wiser men than me's beguile'd,
  Whistle o'er the lave o't.

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love and how we 'gree
I care na by how few may see,
  Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding-sheet;
I could write, -- but Meg maun see't,
  Whistle o'er the lave o't.